Curse of Darkness -- O Cursed Fate
by Sapadu
Summary: A novelised adaption of the game… sorta. Hector begins his quest for revenge against Issac, but discovers a hand even more powerful than Dracula's that may be orchestrating his fate.
1. Prologue -- Flattery with the Secret Art

O Cursed Fate

By Sapadu

Author Note/ A Quick Explanation: What this story, technically is, is a novelization of the game Castlevania: Curse of Darkness… kind of.

Y'see, I usually don't play video games. I don't even own a gaming system, or even a television set. My roommate, however, does have these devices, and does play video games. A lot. I find her incredibly entertaining to watch, but hadn't actually touched the console for myself, until she kind of sat me down with the controls and made me. And, wouldn't ya know it, Curse of Darkness was the first/only game I played. I completed it, beating all the bosses, before she did, despite the fact that I'm not even that good at all the secret moves or timing tricks. I still don't get how that happened. But, as the two of us took turns playing our own games, my roomie and I started having a discussion about the conversion of media – specifically, when people make movies out of games. How do they do it – after all, video games are interactive and the events can vary based on the player's choices, while movies have a pretty set plot that doesn't derail. So, how would someone make an adaptation of Curse of Darkness? Finally, my roommate said 'Why don't you just do it, yourself?'

So… I am. Kind of. Just keep in mind that this is not only the first video game I completed, it's the first I ever played.

But enough explanations – have at you!

Prologue ~Endless Sorrow~

Under the light of the yellow, crescent moon, the Valachian mountain forests could seem to glow. The moss on the stones cast a light as though they were a murky, crystalline blue, and the shadows cast by the leaves on the trees made them seem the cleanest, deepest green. This was most breathtaking when, Hector knew, it had not been so long ago that this ground had been muddied and red with blood, and the trees blackened from rot. The plague that had devastated the peoples had left bodies to choke rivers and poison the ground. Whomever had been left set among their own numbers and burned and ravaged the lands as they did. None who set foot in this land during those dark days would believe anything could ever grow, again.

All because of the monster that Hector had once called his Master. Hector ran past everything, to blot the images from his mind. He wasn't here to admire the land or ponder the future of Valachia.

As he ran, the towering, haunted shadow of the old, abandoned castle crept into the light of the moon. Every stone, every spire, every bolt in the wall was visible in Hector's mind – he knew those halls well. It called to him, as though the moat separating the castle from the common mainland was non-existent, as though it were pulling him in. But how he was going to cross, he didn't know – Dracula had been clever in the construction of his haunts, to ensure that none could ever penetrate their defenses. Only those imbued with his power could undo the locks and seals that kept the castle grounds safe, and he'd even loosed water blessed in the temple on the other side of the mountains into the ravines and moat, to dispel even the holiest of magicks. Under normal circumstances, no mortal man could have possibly crossed onto Dracula's lands. None could have even set foot on the stone terrace that protruded from the steep cliff of the moat and met the drawbridge halfway.

But one man had. Indeed, those had been no normal circumstances that allowed Trevor Belmont a path to victory.

Hector stood still, feeling the vibration of the stones beneath his feet – whether it was the old powers that rumbled through all of Dracula's cursed lands, or simply the rush of his own blood that made him tremble, he did not know – and pondering how he was to open the drawbridge. After all, the normal circumstances that should have kept Belmont out of the castle were now a bane to Hector's progress.

He needn't have worried – as though it could hear his thoughts, the drawbridge over him creaked and groaned, and he heard the chain rattling as it fell open, waiting for him.

That meant someone else had opened it. And there was but one man in all of Valachia whom had that ability – whom still was touched by Dracula's mark.

Hector dashed across the bridge, through the arching, shadowy gates, and across the gated walkway that led to the courtyard before the castle doors. The narrow, gray stone pillars of the castle stood, menacing – it mattered naught that they crumbled and decayed, when the walls seemed to mock the flow of time itself.

"Show yourself, Issac!" Hector shouted into the echo of the courtyard. The wind picked up and blew around him, sending sparks and smoke from the burning lanterns into his eyes. Someone had to have lit them, "I know you're here!"

Overhead, the clouds rustled and the moonlight poured down, gleaming off of the windows and roof and illuminating the doorway atop the courtyard's curving steps. Even the water pouring from the fountain between the two sides of the steps seemed to gleam, as though animated with something other than life.

"Hector!" A voice rang from the arch of the doorway, lilted with a perverse, impish merriment, "Is that _you_?"

Hector instinctively braced himself for a blow to come out of the darkness. It was a futile gesture when he had only a single blade at his side.

Surely enough, standing at the top of the stairs, leaning casually on the railing over the fountain, were two figures – one, a creature so gray and dull that it looked almost like a stone statue, with a gargoyle's countenance, save for the motion of it's wings as it hovered, and the unearthly glow of the crystal protruding from it's body.

The other was a red-haired man in black leather with tattoos over his chest and back, drawing out the markings of either a spell, or the crest of a servant of the fallen vampire. Hector fixed his gaze on the smirking face of his once comrade turned foe.

"I've finally tracked you down..." Hector said, more to himself than as any grand statement. Issac heard, all the same.

"YOU... tracked ME down?" He asked, chuckling as he righted himself and paced. Hector could hear the clicking of Issac's heels on the cobblestones and the slide of his trousers as he sauntered about, "I was the one who _lured_ you here..." Issac paused and fixed Hector with a cold glance.

Of course he had – looking back on his journey to the castle, Hector realized he should have known it was Issac's intention for Hector to find him. If Issac had truly meant to retreat into hiding, never would he have chosen the old castle they'd lived, fought, and trained in together as boys, nor would he have willingly let Hector in at the drawbridge.

"Hector..." Issac rolled his name as though simultaneously savoring it and biting with disgust, "The fool who betrayed our Lord, Dracula." All gleeful disdain was gone from his face now, replaced with icy contempt.

"That matters naught! I've come to exact my revenge upon you..." Hector pointed to Issac, his arms shaking with fury, "...For the death of Rosalee!"

The mention of her name sparked a wicked grin across Issac's face. It was the same one that Hector remembered seeing through the flames on that day...

"Oh... and HOW will you have this 'REVENGE'?" Issac's whole body shook as though with suppressed laughter as he mocked Hector and sneered at his anger, "When you are utterly at my mercy... you RELINQUISHED your powers! You couldn't even protect your own woman."

Indeed, Hector hadn't – from Issac. Issac and his lies and manipulations had been the end of Rosalee – and of her village, all starved and devastated by the famine and the plague after they had brutally seen her burned at the stake. All of it was because Hector had been too weak to protect her from Issac.

How dare he mock her? Hector unsheathed his blade and leapt up the ledges of the fountain and at Issac, intent on slashing his throat. He never even had the chance – the creature by Issac's side was so quick that Hector never even saw it bolt at him. The next moment, he was flying through the air, his sword spinning beside him until they both landed on the hard ground. For an instant, Hector saw bursts of light in the sky, before they died away and his vision cleared, yet again.

Issac was still snickering, not having even moved from his spot on the steps.

"And NOW, you think to defeat ME?" Issac asked. Hector looked away, ashamed at his own folly. If he were to be honest, he also should have realized that Issac had changed from last Hector had seen him – no longer the brash and fiery young man who would shout and swear and curse every time he lost to Hector's cool calculations, either in their personal training matches, or when Dracula favored Hector's strategies on his campaigns over Issac's brute force.

"Lord Dracula is gone, but his _powers_... are still here in Valachia. Even YOU must realize..."

The implication rang in Hector before he sat up and took a good look at the creature that had just flung him across the courtyard. Indeed, he recognized it, now.

"...Devil forging..." He whispered. The devil made no reply, but to continue hovering and staring at him.

"Indeed – with this, the most... _forbidden_... of arts..." Issac turned and surveyed his creation with the greatest of pride, "A whisp of conjured matter can be transformed... into a HELLISH DEVIL!" The demonic joy in Issac's voice was the closest to his old, daring self, "There are but two humans... who possess this power... You... and I."

Hector scowled at the ground, not wanting to see the delight in Issac's face, nor to be compared with him in any way.

"Yes." He admitted, "To our lasting shame." He remembered, all too well, traversing through Valachia and seeing the hell unleashed upon the humans – on Dracula's orders, perhaps, but of his own doing, his own work... the men butchered, the children orphaned, the women left for dead as beasts of the wild and the night descended to rend their bodies and feast on their rotting flesh. It might just as well have been his own hands that had spilt their blood, "But I shed that evil power. Never again will I use it!"

Issac had been rolling his head, as though so enrobed in tedium that he'd had nothing better to do as Hector recalled his sordid past. Now, he straightened and a hideous glare marred his features.

"Ah, but you WILL Hector, and soon – you have no choice." The venom in Issac's voice took Hector aback, enough that he saw the fury in Issac's pale eyes as they bored into his, "Without it, I could _crush_ you in an _instant._" Issac's fist clenched and Hector could hear the leather of his glove creak and groan under the strain, "But that wouldn't be very... _satisfying_... now would it?"

Issac had changed – perhaps he had always been fierce and impulsive, but Hector didn't recall once seeing Issac do anything out of spite.

Then again, Hector had borne no illusions of Issac being chivalrous or forgiving since Rosalee's death.

"You deserve a most _gruesome_ fate for the humiliation you brought upon me three years ago." Issac snarled as the wind picked up and swirled dust about them, "Bereft of the gift of Devil Forging... you cannot hope to pursue me. THAT is why you will reclaim your powers, and thence... follow where I lead you. But..."

Hector started to his feet as Issac turned and began to amble through the doors. His body felt heavy and slow, and even as Issac moved slowly and turned to watch, Hector found himself struggling to even move.

"...In the end, the _glorious_ vengeance you seek will not be yours." Hector's eyes met Issac's once more and he saw the murderous glee in them, "'Twill be _mine!"_

And Issac disappeared into the darkness of the abandoned castle, his maniacal laugh echoing back and haunting Hector's ears.

"Wait – Issac!" By the time Hector was standing, Issac was gone, with only the flickering glow of the lanterns proof that he'd ever been present, at all, "Damn him..."

So this was his game, was it? Rosalee had died just so Issac could play at this miserable hunt with him? The thought burned Hector, like a flaming blade sunk into his flesh. He would not let Issac escape – he owed Rosalee's memory at least that much.

"So be it..." He must descend into darkness, and reclaim that cursed power once more, "Heed my words – I will hunt you down like the BEAST you are!"

He glared up at the arches and pillars of the abandoned castle, cursing Dracula for his cruelty and his curse and all it had brought – Hector had slaved for him, years upon years of wicked deeds, and for that, he would not begrudge any hardship fate wished to bestow on him. But Rosalee... she had been innocent. And Issac had once been, if not good, at least with a veneer of nobility and honor. If not for Dracula, none of this would ever have come to pass.

Hector clenched his fists – on his right hand, a glove just like Issac's groaned as he squeezed.

"I will have my revenge."

A/N: ~Head hits keyboard~ Argh! Don't I have ENOUGH that I'm working on? Nope, guess not – I'm only putting in a note on this chapter, but, I do hope everyone enjoys this. My god, what have I done?


	2. Abandoned Castle Curse of Darkness

O Cursed Fate

By Sapadu

Chapter 1: Abandoned Castle

Before he could go further into the castle, Hector turned and unsteadily ran back along the bridge and onto the path leading back to the wastes. He might have defected from Dracula's service three years ago, but Hector was no fool – he'd known there was a chance he might be forced to return to these lands. Perhaps, back then, he'd even hoped that Belmont and his companions would come to him for aid – it would have been Hector's greatest honor to repent of the sins he'd committed.

But, alas, the call had never come. So, now, Hector knew where he'd buried the emergency potion in the wastes – just in case. He found the clearing easily, a little piece of flat ground surrounded on all sides by boulders and slopes. There, with just the enchanted, black flame of the torches as his light, Hector dug.

It was just where he'd left it – a little blue jar with a small handle of gold. It could bring a mortal man back from even the brink of death to, at least, a defensible level of health. Nothing – not magic spells nor the claws of damned beasts nor even enchanted weapons – was so heinous or fatal that this potion couldn't restore one's life.

Hector was about to straighten when he saw something else – something he didn't remember seeing before. He knelt and reached into the soft earth, pulling out something small and wooden – a little statue in the shape of a man's head. It was innocuous enough, hardly anything impressive, but Hector felt something from it – some strange surge of power. Curious, though, was the lack of any malice or curse. It felt clean and bright, despite being naught but a rough carving.

Both the strange statue and the potion went into his pocket. He could decipher the meaning of the statue later, and he might need the potion soon enough. For now, he had to return to the castle and begin his pursuit of Issac – the grounds were vast and he couldn't waste any time if Issac planned to lead him on a chase.

Just thinking about the arduous task that awaited him sent a pulse of rage through Hector. But his anger had done him little good when he'd seen Issac – he must remain calm, return to the collected strategist and tactician he'd been in the darkest days of Dracula's reign if he wanted to catch and defeat Issac. Even that thought made Hector sick.

Furious, Hector unsheathed his sword and struck at the nearest torch. It shattered in a burst of flame and splinters and something hit the ground that gleamed in the last burst of light. When Hector inspected it, he realized he held a round, yellowed coin – barely even pocket change, really. But Hector pocketed it all the same with a bitter smile – he remembered servants among Dracula's lands whom thought they could get away with filching from their Master, and hid coins in the hollow wells under the flame in torches. He and Issac would do the same with other things throughout the land, in the event they needed them. Potions, serums for curses, antidotes for poisons – he'd forgotten about them and wondered if Issac had, as well. If he had, then Hector had just that much an advantage.

Perhaps... perhaps he needn't even reuse his Devil Forging powers, at all. The thought was comforting as Hector returned to his sprint, only stopping to smash the lampposts and pocket the coins – just the simple practice of swinging his sword again was useful, and to see the flames sputter out was immensely satisfying.

Again, he crossed the bridge. Below him, Hector could hear the water rushing as though it wanted reach up and grab him and drag him under it's current to rest with the other lost souls. The walls of the moat and the iron gates of the bridge to the courtyard seemed to creak and the windows gleamed like eyes. Far be it for Hector to say he was frightened – but he was cautious. Apart from the creatures of the night that prowled about all of Valachia these days, the lands that Dracula had once walked were haunted. The vampire's curse seemed to penetrate even the innermost stones of the walls here.

With this in mind, Hector tread carefully up the steps and pushed the door open.

The entrance way was different than Hector remembered – the cobbled stone floors and naked walls were much as he remembered, but there was a third wall there, now. Unless Issac had built a secret passageway just within these three years, he could not have come through this door and the wall.

Something was waiting for him.

Ready, Hector drew his sword and cautiously entered. Every footstep he took echoed against the walls, and there was nowhere to hide or use as cover. It was the most exposed Hector had felt in years, until he finally stepped close enough to the wall and then, he heard, and felt, the crash as it cracked and shattered apart.

There, towering up to the ceiling stood an Executioner. It was a one-armed menace created from the corpses of numerous humans, a black sack tied over the creature's head, concealing what might have been a human face, or possibly something worse, and the single arm it had ended in a hammer, punctuated with brass bolts that could crush a man in one blow.

Hector knew – these had been the foremost creatures he would send to lay waste to a castle or village walls when Dracula wanted a conquest. After they made short work of any barriers in their way, it was simple enough for smaller creatures to seize the homes.

The Executioner raised it's hammer arm and Hector ran quickly enough that it failed to connect. He felt the ground shudder under him and quickly jumped at the Executioner's shoulder, swinging his blade into the creature's shoulder. A spurt of blood gushed from the wound – something that would have made a human scream in agony, but was little more than an annoyance to something as unholy as an executioner. The arm kept swinging, and Hector kicked away before the hammer came down, again. This time, he struck a blow to the creature's legs, and then another and another. One leg came off at the knee and the Executioner sank to it's hips, still struggling to move and unable to understand that it's prey was killing it, slowly.

Unholy monstrosity though it may be, Hector made another jump and drove his sword through the creature's skull, and all he could feel was pity for the mindless brute. No creature – no matter if it were chimeras Dracula bred to guard his lands, or wild monsters tamed to set upon villagers and peasants that threatened his reign – none had ever been able to escape Dracula's control. Perhaps, had he not been blessed as a human at birth, Hector might never have been able to do the same.

He shook himself and turned to the hall – there were two passages leading from the entrance, both with gold-lined red carpet leading down them, but before him was a wrought iron door enameled with bright blue glass. The glass hardly even seemed like something earthly at all – as though it were water somehow forged into the finest of jewels. More than that, it was the same color as the jar his potion was in.

The memory came back, quickly – memories of numerous villagers organizing resistance, bringing torches and pitchforks to Dracula's lands in some futile hope that it might save them, how he would organize the monsters and his own creations to defend the castle, and, should he be wounded in battle...

Hector pushed the door open and found himself in a room constructed completely of blue stone. There was a basin of holy water around the platform, and a chair with enormous wings carved in glass resting off the back. In each indent in the wall, there stood tall, solemn statues of the Virgin Mary with tiny blue lanterns glowing in her hands. The room's magic was instantaneous – everything from the tips of his ears to the soles of his feet seemed to buzz with new life, and his exhaustion melted into something more soothing. Without a second thought, Hector climbed the steps and slumped into the chair – so like a throne that Hector wondered for whom it had been truly intended – and the wings folded about him. He closed his eyes and allowed the hum of the room to lull him into a more tranquil state – he would need it to successfully plot...

~Blue Serenade~

Hector shook himself and sat up – he hadn't realized it, but looking back, his pursuit of Issac just to the abandoned castle had taken him days, if not weeks. In all that time, he'd not stopped for a real night of rest. Feeling foolish, he stood from the chair, determined not to let it happen again, the next time he found one of these rooms.

Outside, the hallway was still dark, save for the flickering glow from the enchanted torches. It was as though no time had passed at all while Hector had rested. He could take just a step or two to the right and see out the window into the black sky – not even moonlight penetrated the windows. Hector watched for a moment, then saw a flash of lightning somewhere in the distance. The storm must have started while he'd been in the sanctuary.

Knowing Issac, he wouldn't be out in this – he'd be somewhere within the castle. Hector turned to the left, along the edge of the fraying red carpet until he reached a set of stairs, descended... and stopped when he heard the rippling splashes of water. He remembered this room – it had been the great hall. Once, long before Dracula had taken the castle, it might have been where meals – great feasts, even – had served the dwellers of the realm. He didn't remember there being water down here. Had something broken? Was there a leak?

And, more importantly, what was making that noise? Hector drew his sword, yet again, and began his way down. Almost immediately, his eyes adjusted to the near total darkness and he could see a good foot of water covering the last few steps. He stepped carefully, barely daring to breathe, let alone disturb the water. He moved slowly, trying to avoid any sudden movements and watch for whatever was lurking down here. At present, all he could make out were the pillars that supported the crumbling ceiling and the edge around the corner – he couldn't even remember where the exit to the next hallway was.

A loud splash drew Hector's attention, and he just barely saw the flash of something blue come at him before a blow hit him in the face and sent him reeling backwards, into the wall. When he shook himself back to sense, he saw the creature come, hopping and making such a noise that Hector almost thought there were a pack of them. It wasn't until the monster was close enough to swipe at him that Hector saw the distinct fin-spines that rose from it's back, and the snarling, blubbery face of a blue Merman.

This time, Hector blocked the creature's blow and quickly swiped at it with his sword. The blow barely nicked the creature in the arm, and soon enough, Hector had to block as the Merman swiped at him, again. At least it wasn't shooting water at him again – of any monstrous attack, the Merman's water blasts were the most damaging for all their deceptive appearance. Many a mortal man had hunted Mermen in their lairs, believing the monsters to be like legged fish. Instead, they would meet with bursts of water shot so quickly they could rend skin from flesh and leave a man raw and reeling from the pain.

It was only for his tolerance to such wounds that Hector was still standing.

When Hector slashed with his sword, again, it caught the Merman in a broad, bloody blow from maw to belly. The creature stumbled and fell, it's tail still twitching until Hector brought his blade down again and sliced clear through it's spine. A billow of scarlet shot out from the creature's sides, as though it were an insect being squeezed to death under a cruel child's boot. Hector barely had a chance to regain his footing when something rammed into his side and sent him down into the water. His eyes stung and he couldn't breathe, and all the air in his lungs was forced out when something struck him, heavily in the back and pushed him into the stone floor. Blindly, Hector swung his blade and felt it strike something – it could have been a stone jutting out from the floor, or a piece of broken wood, or anything. But luck was with him and the pressure holding him down lessened.

Out of the water and gasping for air, Hector could now clearly see not one, but two more Mermen hopping about. One had blood oozing from a shallow cut on it's scaly, webbed foot. Hector knew he'd swung hard enough to have at least done more than that, unless it had just been the scales that had glanced his blow. He didn't have time to ponder – one of the Mermen had tucked itself into a ball and came rolling at him. Hector put his guard up just in time, and retaliated when the creature uncurled. His blade went through the soft underbelly of the monster. When he pulled out, the Merman staggered and blood gushed from the wound, and all Hector could do was make another slice as quickly as possible, this time into the chest, and drag his blade sharply enough to cut the monster from shoulder to shoulder and make it's death as quick as possible. The second Merman landed beside him and spun to strike Hector with it's tail.

This time, Hector was still on his guard. He caught the creature and landed his sword on the base of it's spine hard enough that he heard a distinct crack and the Merman's tail dropped, uselessly, between it's legs. When the monster spun to swipe at him with it's claws, Hector brought his blade up, again, and took the arm, finally landing a killing blow on the Merman's skull, splitting it right between the eyes.

When he took a moment to brace himself against the wall, Hector saw the three bodies of the Mermen oozing out the last of their lifeblood, then starting to dissolve. The murky red in the water faded, and in a moment, the water was clear and clean again – it was as though the creatures had never been there.

Only one of the many reasons men had been so wrong to think Mermen were like oversized prey.

Hector leant on the wall, using it to bear his weight as he staggered along the side, following the path around the hall, until he could see another stairwell looming out of the gloom. He managed to reach it without much difficulty, finally sitting down on the steps and regaining his breath, completely. Only now did he feel the sting across his face, the stabbing pain in his side, the burn in his lower back. The heat of battle had numbed him, but it now rushed through his veins and made him feel nauseous.

But it passed, and faded to a more manageable level of discomfort. At any rate, he was able to stand and walk up the steps, these leading to a new corridor that was also guided by a red and gold carpet. More lanterns carved from stone were spaced along this hallway, but still few and far between enough that Hector couldn't see much beyond the first few steps before him. Hector staggered along, determined not to stop until he'd reached the doors.

When he had to lean against a wall only halfway down the hall, he admitted that, perhaps, he'd been more gravely wounded in his battle against the Mermen than he'd previously admitted. How humiliating – to have been dealt such a serious blow by just a few, simple creatures. Not even the Executioner had come so close to even scratching him.

Hector kept walking, ignoring the way the pain in his side had spread to across his belly, as though something was ripping him apart with every step. When he saw the doors at last – comforting to him, in the same motif of the Madonna in blue that gazed out at him from the panels on either side of the handles – Hector leaned against them and slid down to the floor, again. He could neither see nor smell any blood, but he'd seen enough battles to know that such injuries existed that could kill a man with only an uncontrollable bruise. He braced his arms against the baseboard of the door, as though praying for a miracle to save him.

As though answering him, when Hector opened his eyes, there was a jar on the floor just beside him – the same small blue with a gold handle as the one he'd dug up from the forest. Without another thought, he grasped the handle and lifted the lid to tip the contents back into his throat. Immediately, the effects of the potion ran through his body and mended any little damage he felt. The pain below his ribs seemed to melt away, and his back and face no longer burned. He could finally take a breath that didn't make his head swim, nor almost send him crashing back to the floor when he stood straight upright.

Grateful as Hector was to have been saved this time, it was a reminder he hadn't realized he'd been wanting for – just a pair of Mermen had injured him so badly that he'd needed the effects of a potion to be able to carry on. The one he still had pocketed, he'd intended for an emergency, for a dire moment, not just after slaying a couple monsters, yet... what else had that been, but very grave wounds?

Calming himself, Hector put a hand against the door and gave a shove. The door didn't move. It didn't even creak at the pressure he put against it. He tried again, and the doors remained stubbornly, steadfastly still. Hector stood back and examined the doors a little more carefully – under the flickering torchlight, he saw a hole under the left door handle, as though a lock had been torn out of the wood.

The Dragon Crest – it had been ever present in the doors when he'd been younger, so much that he'd thought it merely a part of the woodwork. Clearly, he was wrong. Issac must have taken it out and sealed the entryway behind him.

What other secrets about the abandoned castle had Issac discovered in the time Hector had been absent?

With a frustrated, strangled cry of fury, Hector lashed out and smashed the torches. Their flames sputtered out and the stone went scattering. Among the pieces, Hector saw another coin land on the floor, but in the other...

Among the remains of the torch, there was something misshapen and soft – certainly not a potion or a serum, and it couldn't be a coin. Instinctively, Hector put up his sword, in case he had released a bat that had somehow made its way inside the lantern to slumber, before the smell reached his nose. The savory, warm scent of cooked meat.

Something in Hector's middle twisted, and he remembered his long journey up to the castle – like a fool, he'd barely stopped to rest, nor to eat. He didn't give it a second thought before scooping up the odd find and gratefully sinking his teeth down to the bone. It was still warm – perhaps that was why it had been under the flame in the lantern, perhaps it had indeed once been a bat that had the misfortune to roost somewhere that would be it's inevitable doom. Hector didn't know, nor could he bring himself to care enough to pose the question – the bone was clean in less than a minute and left him feeling more at rights with himself than he had been in a long while.

Now that he could, Hector considered his current dilemma – Issac had broken the Dragon Crest out of it's place in the door, sealing it. Hector couldn't pursue him like this. But Issac WANTED Hector to be able to follow him – he wouldn't make this impossible. There had to be a trick in here, somewhere. Likely, this meant Issac had hidden the Crest somewhere that Hector COULD find it – somewhere in this portion of the castle... Hector looked back over his shoulder, down the hallway – maybe even in one of the lampposts. Issac had used his devil to attack Hector at their confrontation – perhaps he'd used the beast to take the crest and hide it somewhere before Hector caught up with them.

At any rate, this meant Hector would have to search the rest of this part of the castle until he found it. So be it, then.

~Abandoned Castle ~ Curse of Darkness ~

With each torch he smashed as he ran back, Hector stopped to pick up the contents – a few lampposts held nothing, and most of them, it was just a coin. Still, he wasn't about to risk the idea that Issac might have hidden something in one of these torches that would be vital. He rushed back down into the great hall, wading through the water as he groped along the walls, looking for some sign – any, whatsoever – of where Issac might have hidden the Dragon Crest, be it just on the floor somewhere or on a rock, or wedged between the bricks.

He'd walked the perimeter of the hall and found nothing. That left the rest of the castle. Hector trudged back up the steps, into the corridor again, and went sprinting for the other end. As he passed the sanctuary again, something caught his eye on the floor – what appeared to be a glowing slip of parchment. He knelt to pick it up and saw the elegant script across the front reading 'Bilet a Memoriu'.

A Memorial Ticket – a spell written into parchment that allowed it's user to transport, instantly, from where they held the spell to wherever they chose. It would be useful, at least – and after his battle against the Mermen, Hector knew precisely where he wanted to be able to teleport to, in case of an emergency.

Inside the sanctuary, Hector carefully climbed the steps to the winged chair and placed the parchment on the back. The blue crystalline glass seemed almost warm to the touch, yet cool at the same moment. Hector closed his eyes and traced the seal on the ticket, encoding it with the unique signature of the sanctuary. In a moment, he felt the seal glow hot, then fade away, and he knew the spell was complete. Pocketing the ticket, Hector pushed through the sanctuary doors and out into the hallway once more.

This time, as he dashed up the corridor, Hector remembered to watch for any hiding place that Issac might have put the Dragon Crest. He checked behind the hanging red curtains that trailed between windows and along the walls, in the pockets of the wrought-iron grate. The hall seemed far too quiet, with the rattling of stormy rain against the windows and flashes of lightning throwing shadows into disarray.

It was because of those flashes that, at first, Hector dismissed it. When he turned and saw three skeletons ambling towards him, he realized the glow he'd caught out of the corner of his eye had been a summoning circle.

At any rate, the skeletons were easy to dispatch. Just a set of human bones animated by magic – and by a spell that wasn't even that hardy to begin with. In three blows, Hector had scattered the bones of the first skeleton and they dissolved into dust, then nothingness. The other two were just as easily smashed – Hector had only used the flat side of his blade, and it still destroyed them in a matter of moments. He ran quickly past, not wanting to wait for another summoning circle to appear, and smashed the lanterns. More coins, no crest. And again at the doors on the end – these ones also engraved with the blue-robed virgin, practically identical to the doors Issac had locked. Hector had a brief moment of panic that they might also have been sealed, until he pressed and they not only swung open, but did so without even a groan or creak in the hinges.

The next hallway, to Hector's surprise, was completely empty and fairly well lit – there were even wrought-iron candelabras posted every few feet on the walls, between stone pillars and red velvet hangings. The carpeting even ensured that there was little to no echo as Hector ran down it's length and up to the next door.

All of the doors had been superficially identical so far. Hector wondered if there was some significance to this, or if it was a simple ploy to confuse intruders and make landmarks in the castle difficult.

Hector pushed through the doors and into the next chamber. One step in and he saw glowing red spikes standing up in the shadow of the other doorway. The sound of something – like a thousand swords being drawn from their sheaths – made him turn to see that the very doors he'd just entered through had been barred by the same spikes. Just looking at them was enough to tell Hector that they were imbued with magic to make passage impossible.

And that was when he saw the summoning circles on the floor. Simultaneously, at least five or six skeletons rose from the haunted glow and charged at him. Each had a hooked pole of bronze in it's hands, and Hector managed to bring his sword up to block the first two that swung towards his head. Behind him, Hector could feel more skeletons being summoned, and he knew that if he didn't make an offensive move soon, they would easily be able to split him like an ax does a log.

This was why, despite their fragility, they had been such effective guards. Any human outnumbered by them would almost always succumb to their fear and lose the battle quickly.

But Hector was no mere human.

First, he kicked out the two skeletons that bore down on him. They tumbled backwards, leaving enough room for Hector to spin and swing his blade, catching two of the skeletons that had been crawling up behind him. They, too, flew back and into the walls. Hector pursued them, hacking away at the others until he had a bare wall to his back. No matter how the skeletons came on, this time, he was able to swing, and slice, and before long, all of them had been reduced to little more than ash. The only evidence that there had been any creatures in this room at all were the broken lanterns and the coins they'd left as Hector gathered them, and the scattered lumps of faintly glowing bronze. Hector gathered those, too – he'd need a new sword, sooner or later, the way he kept falling under attacks like these.

He'd just picked up the last nugget of bronze left by one of the skeletons when, in the center of the room, he felt something tug on his ankle. Panicking, Hector dropped to his hands and flipped, pulling himself out of the way.

There was nothing. Nothing but a fading shimmer, though it might have been just his eyes fooling him. It mattered naught – Hector felt uneasy, but he'd just managed a flip, something he hadn't done in years.

There were plenty things he hadn't done in years. All of the various fighting stances and techniques that he'd learned as a Devil Forgemaster had abandoned him in his years of desertion.

"_You relinquished your powers... and now, you think to defeat me?"_

Suddenly, Issac's words cut all the more deeply. Devil Forging aside, if Hector was deprived of even simple evasion techniques and guarding, what chance did he stand in a fight?

He shook himself and turned to dash up the stairwell – if his skills were that low, even now, he would need to practice.

At the top of the stairs, Hector came out through a trapdoor onto the ledges of the outer wall surrounding the castle. The stones of the walls and walkway were brown with rotted moss, yet green with ivy and overgrown weeds. Each step was slippery and Hector heard the ooze of water running out as he moved. It might have been treacherous to walk, were there not at least minimal stone walls lining the ledges, and the enchanted torches remained flickering and lighted, even under the torrent of rain.

Hector had not gone even two steps when he saw a smokey shadow rise from the ground. He drew his sword, beginning to wonder if he should even bother sheathing it ever again, when a flash of red came charging toward him. In the next flash of lightning, Hector could see long, sharp fangs hideously protruding from the muzzle of a Fenrir – a hellhound unlike any other seen.

It was enough to give Hector pause – Executioners and Skeletons were monstrosities forged with magic, not unlike how Hector had forged Devils for Dracula. Mermen were pests, and more or less an inherent risk with any body of water. Fenrirs, however, were closer to wild beasts than any other monster – one never saw them alone, nor so distant from others. What would a Fenrir be doing on the ledges of the outer wall, if there was no den nor pack nearby?

Hector didn't wait to find out – his blade flashed quickly, enough of a movement to make the hellhound rear back and pace, watching him. Hector could see the beast trying to work things out – he could see the cool, almost sentient logic in those glowing green eyes. It would be up to him to make the next move – either a sudden feint or a slow progression. Either way, the Fenrir would be ready to counter attack. Hector made as if to jump to the side and the Fenrir started it's move – circling to prevent him from falling back, nor even to the side. Hector was left little choice but to pivot, watching the beast.

He could almost swear he saw a cold, cruel approval in the Fenrir's eyes when it stopped circling, barking at him, and hunched in obvious preparation to pounce. Hector had his blade up and ready, sinking it into the hellhound's belly as it jumped. The Fenrir's feet caught his arm – enough to make him bleed, although 'twas but a scratch – before Hector sliced through the belly, then throwing the beast aside and making a clean slice through it's throat.

By this time, he saw the second come charging at him from further down the ledge. The first one's mate? A pup? Another part of the pack? It didn't matter – Hector threw his blade and caught the hindquarters of the rearing Fenrir, effectively stopping it's charge. When the sword came back to him, Hector moved in for another two strikes, these breaking the hellhound's spine until it lay on the ground, bleeding.

For a moment, Hector heard faint whimpering, as though from a human child's pet pup, until the Fenrir's fur shed from their bodies and the flesh and bones crumpled with disturbing rapidness into the ground. What was left from the creature was a piece of stone – or, maybe it was bone – with curves and grooves etched into it, like a fossil of some kind. When Hector touched it, he felt like he could hear the rustling of tree leaves and smell the footprints of creatures in the darkest woods.

He could puzzle over it later – maybe it was related to the statue he'd found. Either way, he had to keep moving.

The next pause he had was on the corner platform, with a detailed, faded pattern painted onto the stone floor. Two skeletons appeared out of summoning circles and had barely poised themselves to attack when Hector knocked them down. They left behind nothing – why hadn't it occurred to Hector before that Issac might have fed the Dragon Crest to one of these monsters, for Hector to find once he slew them? – and the lamps yielded more coins. Hector felt his pocket growing heavy, if not cumbersome, but rationed that it would be better that way – he needed to build up his strength again.

He passed through a doorway – these doors with rearing lions carved into them. And then, it was down another stretch of walkway. From this angle, he could see the turrets of other sections of the castle – a sloped rooftop, and a pointing spire that might have been a grand throne room. A small part of him wondered if he might just be able to jump across – spare himself this trouble – but then he looked over the edge of the wall. It was at least six feet to even the gutter of the roof beside them, and Hector could see no bottom in the blackness at the foot of the wall. It wasn't worth it.

So, on he continued, encountering more skeletons, smashing them, noting the telltale blue glass of another sanctuary, and continuing to the next set of doors embraced by hanging bundles of ivy. The corner platform on the other side was bare, save for something fluttering in the wind in the very center. When Hector strode over, he found a piece of parchment held down by a rock.

With a snort of disgust, Hector unfurled the parchment and was greeted with a message, written in Issac's own hand.

_I thought you might be needing this. It's a map of our dear old Abandoned Castle, although lacking in the finer details._

It took all of Hector's restraint – and the fact that he did need this tool – to not crush the parchment in his hands. The insult – the very implication that Issac thought Hector no longer knew the Abandoned Castle, let alone that Issac knew it – was abominable. It irritated Hector almost to the point that he practically forgot to check the lanterns. When he turned to begin down the next ledge, he could see a tower coming into view – even in the heavy rain, he could make out where the moon was, and the tower seemed to skewer it, as though it were a tether, binding the night to Valachia and forbidding the morning to come.

But Hector had no time to ruminate – another Fenrir had come charging out of the shadows, somewhat stupider than the first two and not even expecting when Hector drew his sword and smashed the flat of it against the beast's jaw. One of it's fangs was knocked out and went flying as Hector made another swipe at the Fenrir's side, and then cut through it's underbelly. Leaving the corpse behind to disintegrate, another came at him and Hector managed to catch it mid pounce and tossed it over the side of the ledge. It was strange, but the beasts seemed remarkably easier – not something that Hector could shrug off, of course, but nowhere near as grueling as his fight with the Mermen had been.

Finally, the corner, and two more skeletons. Hector's slices now felt less like a calculated move and more like a natural flow that his arm performed of its own will. He paused to breathe for a moment and survey the area – he could see that, beyond the door before him, there was a room somehow attached to something more significant than just another part of the castle wall. There was even a wall of stone that cupped the corner platform, as though supporting the castle walls, itself. It was almost ominous, the way the wall curved into a little corner, with iron grates and chains hanging from them and arched carvings – of what, Hector could not say, they were so weather worn – evenly spaced between those. Why, he couldn't think.

Knowing Dracula, it might have been a sadistic punishment for any servants he caught disobeying him.

Hector put it out of his mind, destroyed the lampposts – yet another coin, but naught else – and pushed through yet another set of doors. Almost immediately, a set of bars went up behind him, and Hector wished he hadn't pushed through into the room.

Standing right in the middle of the floor, with an enormous club slung over it's shoulder, was a giant purple Cyclops. As if that weren't enough, there were also skeletons swarming around it.

When the Cyclops began to lumber towards him, and swing the club, Hector was at least quick enough that he was able to flip out of the way. One of the skeletons was there to greet him with a raised hook, but Hector was quicker to draw and smash it to pieces. The Cyclops hadn't even completed its swing before Hector had drawn and slashed through a second skeleton, and by the time he'd done away with a third, only then did the Cyclops think to look around to see where the puny human it had spotted had gone.

More skeletons kept coming – it was as though they were walking in a row, just so Hector could smash one to pieces and flip to the side to scoop up the bronze nuggets they left before dispatching another. Even as more summoning circles appeared and more skeletons popped out of nowhere, Hector was able to move swiftly enough to swat them all down.

Perhaps because he was distracted with the skeletons, Hector didn't notice until too late that the Cyclops' eye had lit up and fired a beam that curved out, right behind where Hector was standing. When the ground exploded, Hector was knocked over hard enough that his face hit the cobblestones and he felt his nose crack. With blood running down his face, Hector only barely managed to roll out of the way as another skeleton brought it's hook down. It caught his leg with enough force to send a shockwave of numbness to his foot. Hector righted himself and quickly tossed his sword. The blade splintered through the last skeleton and managed to cut a slice into the Cyclops' trunk-like leg before Hector managed to catch it and hobble out of the way.

Slow and stupid through the Cyclops might be, Hector did remember how impossibly strong they were – a single Cyclops could be dispatched onto the battlefield and mash it's way through the troops of the attacking army without even feeling the arrows or sword slashes. Hector usually sent them to destroy massive weapons constructed by the enemy – the catapults and trebuchets and siege towers. Human weapons never even surprised the monsters.

The only thing Hector had to his advantage was the fact that he had the potential power of a Devil Forger. That alone would give him a fighting chance. He had to move slowly, with his leg injured, and when he flipped out of the way of the next arching beam, he ended up rolling closer to the Cyclops, rather than away. It gave him the chance to land another blow – deeper but no more effective this time – on the creature's belly, just before the Cyclops lifted a foot to stomp. Hector's foot was caught and he felt a shock of unbelievable pain go up his leg.

"Just crush me and get it over with, then!" He howled at the Cyclops, as he fell to the ground. The creature, mercifully, was too stupid to comprehend it's opponent shouting at it – it staggered a little, attempting to stay balanced and lifted a hand to scratch behind it's head, as though inspecting a curiosity.

It was all that Hector needed – the distraction gave him time to roll away, even as it made his leg throb. The moment he moved, the Cyclops growled, indistinctly, and started after him. Hector saw the creature unholster its club and begin the swing, and it was only because he rolled out of the way that the end of the club just caught his other foot. It was only his boots that stopped the club from completely tearing the limb in two, and either way, it was agonizing enough to make him scream. Hector heard his voice echo back off of the walls, and it surely must have gone up into the sky, like an injured wolf's howl.

Again, it was a mercy, because the Cyclops stopped and looked around to see where else that noise was coming from. Hector fumbled in his pocket and found the potion with ungainly haste. It wasn't much, but it did help his legs and the reopened, bleeding wound on his arm. Hector quickly pulled himself up, and darted towards the Cyclops. It turned, but too slowly before Hector had slunk behind it and began to hack away at it's back. It wasn't until the third strike – which finally hit some blood, that the Cyclops even realized it was being struck. It started to turn, with Hector running behind, slicing as quickly and deeply as he could. He couldn't do this for very long – eventually, the Cyclops would get the idea to spin its club again and then he might not see it coming in time. Hector made one last, desperate jab and pierced through the raw and already weakened flesh and felt his sword pierce something inside the Cyclops' belly.

The creature gave an unearthly roar, and Hector barely had time to pull his sword out and flip to the side before it toppled over. The Cyclops' head hit the ground with such force that Hector heard it's skull crack, before the body shriveled and collapsed in a burst of flames. Breathing heavily, Hector straightened himself and made his way about the room, checking each of the torches for the Dragon Crest – again, none of them, although he did find more coins and another chunk of roasted meat spilt out of one. Hector finished gnawing on the bone as he made his way to the doors he hadn't yet passed through when he stopped at something – the first time he'd seen these doors, he'd assumed it was a lion carved onto them. These, perhaps because they were not as exposed to wind and rain as the other doors were, had more distinct carvings on them and, while it was certainly a lion's head, Hector saw feathered wings protruding from their human backs, and in their human hands, each carried something indistinct.

Rather than being carved lions, these appeared to be likenesses attributed to Saint Mark. Hector shuddered at the thought and pushed through the doors, not wanting to gaze on the carvings any longer than he needed to.

Through the doors lay, not another ledge nor a room, but a stairwell. Hector could look over the edge of the railing and see into the abyss below. There was nothing even visible of the abandoned castle, save for the doorway Hector had just left. More importantly, Hector almost tripped over something and only just regained his balance enough to see that it was a small chest embellished with red velvet. Irritably, he kicked it and was surprised to feel himself being thrown backwards onto the steps, rather than the chest moving. Curious, Hector drew his sword and tried to smash it. The blade, seemingly of its own will, simply arched around the chest, not touching it at all.

"...A seal..." Hector mused to himself – it would make sense of why he was apparently unable to touch it. What, he wondered, briefly, could be inside it? Was there something he needed to unlock it? As he looked about, his eyes were drawn to the door atop the steps – just like the doors to sanctuary rooms, but with dark green glass instead of light, aquamarine blue. Of course – there was one thing which might undo the seal on a magic chest.

Hector sat down on the steps for a moment. Already, he'd used the potions he'd found, and for such minor battles as against Mermen or a Cyclops. He'd discovered that his strength was not what it used to be, nor did he remember any of what he'd trained for in his youth. As if that weren't enough, the fight he'd just escaped from reminded him that he was not only weaker than before, but also more rash and clumsy – not assessing the battlefield properly, nor able to properly defend himself. His feet had both been nearly crushed, all because he hadn't taken care enough to watch the Cyclops' movements as he fought with the skeletons.

It shamed him to admit it, but he needed his Devil Forging. Any kind of Devil – and there were so many kinds – any thing to have as a support, he was going to need. Even the weakest, most useless kinds of creatures, Hector could still use a second pair of eyes, or even a creature to take a blow for him, if worst came to worst.

Hector looked back over his shoulder at the door, then, with a leadened heart, began his way up the steps. If this was what he needed to do, then...

~Devil Forging~

When he pushed the doors open, at first Hector was blinded by the light that poured from the room on the other side. In the next moment, he found himself staggering inward, as though being drawn in by a hand larger than himself. The doors slammed shut behind him, and when Hector managed to regain his vision, he saw the room in it's full glory – not a room, but rather like a pocket of space and empty void, with naught but this platform upon which he stood. The air around him was permeated with thick, maroon colored mist, and stones floated in midair, swirling about as though they were in they eye of the storm. All, save but the one before him.

It was a thick slab of gray marble, holding a basin of glowing, pink crystal – the same kind that Hector had seen encrusted on Issac's devil. And floating among this crystal was a tiny stone statue, like a child in his mother's womb.

"This unearthly power..." Hector murmured, wondering if it was coming from this very tombstone. All he had to do was step forward and feel the thrum of the energy on his ears and skin, vibrating within him, to confirm it. And that was when he saw the writing on the edge of the basin.

Issac's writing.

"Huh. How conscientious of him." He mused, out loud, in disgust. Issac had carved the instructions for Devil Forging – the words of the spell, how the forger must gather his energy, how he must bend his will – into the stone of the tombstone.

"Along with the most difficult visualization." Hector couldn't help but notice that the mass of stone floating in the crystal basin was formless and awkward – certainly, it was part of Hector's duty to impose an image on the matter he forged into a devil, but there were ways of making the process go easier. Issac just had to pick one that would be difficult to shift into a creature.

"So..." On the other hand, the more difficult the forging process, it usually made for stronger devils... for the most part, "...That's how badly he wants me to regain my powers."

It seemed to strike home in Hector's memories. When they'd both been growing as forgemasters under Dracula's dominion, Issac always preferred to make his devils easier to forge, and to make as many of them as possible. Hector had preferred to pick difficult forms and spent time carefully developing each of them to be as powerful and skilled as was in his power. Whenever they had set their creations into matches with each other – to test their own skills, and to determine whose devils would be chosen for Dracula's missions, and for Dracula's idle amusement – Hector's had almost always torn Issac's apart.

He could still see clearly, the last time he had been victorious in a battle. Dracula, on his throne, had slowly and sarcastically applauded Hector's creation as it decimated Issac's – one of the few that Issac had taken his time and spent his energy carefully on breeding – and the look on Issac's face when Hector didn't even bother to acknowledge him. Dracula had decreed that Hector would lead the siege on Constantinople, and be rewarded with the greatest bounty of loot claimed from the city, which Hector had coldly accepted.

During the week long journey – taken by riding on low-flying dragons, or one of his more bestial creations – Hector had seen the carnage among the humans as he traveled. The villages burned, the cities torn to the ground and made red with blood, and ever present were the cries of fleeing people from miles away and the stench of dead, rotting bodies.

He never made it to Constantinople.

"...Very well." He spread his arms and commanded the pulsating energy to flow to him as he willed;

"_Heed my words, O great powers of darkness! Release to me the tortured souls, let me infuse him with my life force, and awaken him to the world of the living!"_

Hector felt his voice reverberating in his throat as it hadn't in years – the sensation was almost welcome, it was so unfamiliar, and it filled him with a surge of power that had been all but lost. Around him, the wind blew in every which direction, until he could see the strings of energy rippling and coiling and wrapping about the tombstone, like moths attracted to the light of a candle.

"_Immaculate being – appear before me, NOW!"_

With a final thrust of power, Hector focused, pouring his energy into the enchantment. He felt it flow out of him, and connect with the tiny stone figure in the crystal. Then, it was there – like a vibrating string, Hector felt what was once but stone awaken in consciousness, as though a part of him were awaking from slumber.

He stepped closer and saw the figure move – no longer a block of gray stone, it had a shape like a tiny homunculus with moth-like wings and a small protrusion of pink crystal from the base of it's spine. It twitched, then stretched, and Hector knew he wasn't imagining it when the devil let out a soft, almost pixie-like yawn. When the devil took flight, it zipped about Hector's head, then bobbed, swerved, and weaved about, as though it were about to fly off course and hit something. It finally settled down onto the edge of the tombstone and looked up at him, it's beady black eyes wide and far too innocent to truly be anything Hector could imagine being connected to HIS life force.

Come to think of it, when Hector recalled the twisted creature that had thrown him across the courtyard, the fairy sitting before him and humming soft, high-pitched nonsensical chirps seemed the furthest thing from what he was sure Issac had in mind.

"_A whisp of conjured matter can be transformed into a hellish devil."_

Indeed, the 'Hellish' part had seemed to be what Issac craved the most about his creations. If that was what Issac made his devils into, it could not be anything like the innocent devil that Hector had just brought into the world.

But... hellish or innocent, a devil was a devil, and he had forged this one. The deed was done, and there was nothing for it but to go on.

The fairy sat up and quickly fluttered off. Hector stared after it, knowing the thing couldn't travel far from him, but still curious to what it was doing.

Something behind him started clapping. Hector practically jumped up after the devil, he was so startled. When he turned, a bald old man enrobed completely in black velvet sauntered up beside him.

"Well, well... Devil Forging, isn't it?" The man asked, his voice sounding much younger than his years, "Never seen that before – quite impressive. It's enough to make your blood run cold."

There were many things that would make Hector's blood run cold – being caught off guard by a complete stranger, for one – but he would respectfully disagree that the forging he'd just completed was one of them.

"Who are you?" And how had he gotten in here without Hector even noticing? Had he really been that distracted? The old man looked almost astonished for a moment that Hector had asked, then bowed low, the very picture of subservience.

"Oh, my apologies, milord – I should have offered an introduction." Another duck of the head, "I go by Zaed."

That told Hector this man's name, and not much else. As if hearing this silent censure, Zaed continued.

"I am here for one purpose only: To purify this land of the pestilent curse which infects it." Zaed couldn't seem to stand still, the way he bobbed and wobbled about. Hector almost felt a stab of pity for him.

"...I see." He mused, pacing so as to observe this man from as many angles as possible. There was something about him that was hauntingly familiar – something Hector couldn't quite see or even articulate quite yet. Zaed turned his wobbling head to follow Hector.

"You, on the other hand, are pursuing the other Devil Forgemaster, are you not?" Hector could see the old man's eyes not following him – indeed, they had a milky, blank quality to them, as though carved from balls of marble or bone and no one had bothered to paint the details on them. It was wholly unnerving, "The one you seek fled toward the chapel on the other side of the mountain – he made his escape through the back of the castle."

Something about this Zaed made Hector suspicious.

"What concern is this to you?" He asked, taking a step closer towards the tombstone. The power he felt radiating from the crystal in the basin flowed through him, making him feel a thousand times more powerful than he knew himself to truly be.

Zaed was silent for a moment, those hauntingly vacant eyes at such an angle that he might have been watching Hector, or staring at the tombstone, or neither. It unnerved Hector to an unspeakable degree.

"...He is the one protecting the curse." Zaed finally, slowly explained, "Ergo, he is an impediment to me – and to all those who abide in this land."

Hector took a step back and assessed Zaed again, from head to toe – black robes, old and balding, unable to stand straight or keep still, possibly slowly going blind... he had all the traits that Hector wouldn't be surprised to find in a priest. His words about the welfare for the people of Valachia were only further evidence for this.

Perhaps, Hector pondered of himself, he was the one who was simply no longer able to trust. But, suspicions aside, he saw no reason to deny gratitude.

"I see. Very well: I, Hector, thank you for your help." He finally replied, as graciously as he could, "Now, if you'll forgive me, I must be on my way."

Zaed only bowed, even more deeply this time, as Hector turned back for the door – how ironic, he mused as he saw the sculpture of a cherubim presiding over it – and beckoned for his innocent devil to follow him.


	3. Encounter with the Innocent Devil

O Cursed Fate

By Sapadu

Chapter 2: Encounter with the Innocent Devil

Outside the room, the rain had at least stopped, even if the clouds drifting around the steps were still thick and unnaturally tainted. Actually, if Hector stopped to think about it, the clouds on this side of the castle were all the same color as the air in the room with the tombstone, as though the aura of the devil forging tombstone had seeped out into the surrounding area. But that was of no importance – he needed this newly forged infant fairy to open the chest at the foot of the stairs.

Speaking of the fairy...

"Heh heh!" When Hector looked to see where the fairy had gone, he saw it bobbing up and down in the air around the door. The foolish thing, not even minutes new in the world, kept darting in and out of the flames flickering in the torches. From personal experience, Hector knew that the enchanted torches gave off a magicked light – one that did not burn, and caused no injury – but since they were powered by a simple spell, it would only be through a grievous mistake that Hector might learn that magically forged devils were not impervious to ill-effects caused by their power. Panicked, Hector drew his sword and smashed the two, their purple flames sputtering out with a burst of smoke, "...oh..." The fairy looked sincerely disappointed.

Hector paused for a moment, staring at the ruins of the stone torches – neither of them had held any kind of useful items, but the fact that they'd been here... had he not destroyed every torch along his way to this side of the castle? How were these two still here – and the two at the other door, as well? Had he just missed them, too distracted to pursue his ultimate destination? Had he simply forgotten, after his encounter with the chest?

With a shudder, Hector turned and set off down the steps – he was being foolish to ponder so torturously over something so trivial. Well, was it trivial if his true concern was his faith in his own memory? It mattered not compared to what Hector first needed to accomplish. He was now certain that he knew where the Dragon Crest was – leaving it in a lamppost or hiding it among the remains of a monster would have been far too easy, and Issac would have wanted to ensure that Hector needed to forge a devil. Now, he had that devil, and its magic would unlock the chest and he'd be on his way. Standing before the chest, he closed his eyes and willed, with all his might, for the chest to unlock.

When he reopened them, the chest remained locked and untouched. Furthermore, the infant fairy devil was still atop the steps, flitting about in the yellow, mortal flames on higher up brackets of torchlight. The simpleton was even giggling as its feet and the bulbous crystal skimmed the flickering tips of the fire.

"Stop that!" Hector demanded of the fairy, charging back up the steps, "There is a matter of greater import at hand!"

"Ha ha..." The creature impishly sat on the iron grating of the torch, kicking its legs and giggling. Hector jumped and grabbed at the fairy, but it zipped off just in time, leading Hector on a chase across the top of the stairs. Back and forth, the devil zipped and bobbed. Each time Hector grew close enough, it either flew higher over his head, or darted out of place at the last second – even worse, the fairy acted as though it didn't even notice Hector's presence. Finally, Hector leapt to make a grab for his impossible creature, but moments before Hector's hand was upon it, the fairy zipped down and between his ankles. It was timed so awkwardly that, as Hector made another grab, he landed in a tangle and tripped over his own wrist, sending him down the stairs in the most graceless and undignified way possible.

When Hector sat up at the bottom of the steps to see the fairy hopping from one cobblestone to the next like a toad jumping among lilypads, he was unspeakably grateful that none had been privy to the scene of his humiliation.

"Come here!" He barked. In response, the fairy turned and looked in the opposite direction, as though wondering who else might be present that Hector was speaking to, "Obey your master – come!"

The innocent devil alighted and found new merriment ducking in and out of the ivy on the stone walls. It was as though it couldn't even hear Hector.

Growling in frustration, Hector perched himself on the last step and watched the devil. What was it? The creatures were meant to not just obey Hector, but to be a part of him – his strength was what gave them powers, and his life force was theirs. By all rights, he shouldn't even need to command the creature, at all. What prevented him from doing so, again? Was it just another way in which he had lost his powers? Had he done the spell wrong? Or maybe...

_Hector..._

The anger and the sorrow swelled inside Hector so quickly it made him dizzy. He rested his head on a palm and breathed and stared at the chest, defiantly locked and sealed against all but the single power that he COULD not control... Just the thought of Issac escaping, Rosalee denied justice, himself without vengeance; all for the want of an insignificant trinket locked in the chest because he couldn't master his own creation...

"...oh..." Hector opened one eye enough to see that the innocent devil had stopped its merry dance in the flames and was sitting, curled up, on the base of the torch. He paid it no heed until the creature stood, turned, and kicked the stone as hard as its feeble limbs allowed, "Ah!" And down it sat, again, this time nursing its foot and its pointed head resting on one hand.

Hector might have found it mildly amusing had the fairy not essentially just acted as he had been considering, and only refrained from for the sake of decorum.

The innocent devil was bonded to him – it could feel his will and responded appropriately. What then, was he doing wrong so as the control of the creature eluded him? With a sigh, Hector dug in his pocket for a scrap of parchment and a quill to make a log of what he remembered from devil forging.

"Innocent Devils..." He muttered, beginning to write, "...connected with their masters, strength and life force linked to those that forged them, can be enchanted to either strictly obey orders of their master or use their abilities at their own discretion, so long as not explicitly forbidden..."

The fairy devil had returned to its play with the flames, but this time with a silent, almost solemn attitude. Hector watched the sprite pull a leaf from the ivy and wave it through the enchanted purple flame.

"Fairy devils. Abilities: Magic to undo minor seals or locks." What else? Hector knew there was more to the fairy, but he couldn't remember – it couldn't be anything related to their practical size, the fairy type devil was only a fraction of its master's wit and even the cleverest of any sprite was still a simple thinker. They were poor for use as spies or thieves.

The fairy now brought the ivy up to the yellow flame on the wall. Hector glanced up at the alarmed, "Ee!" the creature let out as the leaf caught fire and the fairy zipped away. Now that he thought of it, fairy type devils were fairly weak, and apart from small, mostly insignificant magic spells, they were of no use in battle or strategy. This one in particular was most like a newly hatched insect, or fresh out of its cocoon, with a soft body and frail wings. Small wonder Issac had never forged one... but Hector knew that HE had – and he'd kept it close and powerful, especially on voyages, campaigns, and quests.

All of this still didn't answer why he couldn't control the thing.

_Hector..._

He clenched his fist about his quill – a minor detail this may be, but it was vital. He would find the answer, if he needed to search every crevice between the stones of the castle to find it. Hector got to his feet and gestured to the fairy. Perhaps it was his temper – unlikely, since Issac had always been fitful and temperamental, but had always been able to at least control his devils – and if he remained calm, he could focus his willpower...

"Come hence." He commanded, in the sternest voice he could manage, "And unlock the chest."

The fairy continued about its business with the ivy and the flames. Purposeful, but still not what Hector needed.

"I said come!" He raised his volume as best he could without losing control of his temper. The fairy acted as though it could not hear him, almost like a child ignoring his mother.

"I call for thee – obey me!" Nothing. Not even a glance. It was infuriating – even moreso because he couldn't understand why.

_Hector, where are you?_

_Hector, are you listening to me?_

_Hector..._

The thought occurred to Hector so abruptly, it made him stagger. Of course... the spell WAS incomplete! Zaed had appeared and interrupted Hector before he could complete it.

The name! The most ancient and unbreakable of spells! He needed to dub his newly forged devil with a name!

Hector stood and dashed back up the steps. On the other side of the door, the space was empty, save for the remaining tombstone, filled with the glowing crystal. Where HAD Zaed gone? Hector didn't see him depart, unless there was a second gate into this dimension...

No, that wasn't the point – Hector knelt before the tombstone, right where a flat, smooth surface had been worn into the rock, explicitly for the purpose of whosoever used it to carve something in.

"Ah-ha!" Hector wasn't surprised to see the fairy devil bobbing around on the edge of the tombstone. It would have needed to follow Hector, even if it didn't fully obey him.

Yet.

"You shall be undoubtedly the first of many that I must forge. 'Tis not a fate I would envy, were I you..." Hector muttered, addressing the uncomprehending fairy – though it had stopped its pacing and was stationary as Hector spoke. He laid one hand on the tombstone, "I bestow upon thee a name."

The fairy turned its head. There was no doubt now – the creature was bonded to him, and all Hector needed do was forge the pact.

"As the first of my many Innocent Devils, I dub thee..." The letters appeared, seemingly as though an invisible knife carved them as Hector decreed, "Saul."

It was the best Hector could think – perhaps it had been the images of St. Mark and the Madonna that were ever present in the castle's architecture, or his desire to spite Dracula's memory – to name his devil from the Holy Books.

The innocent devil – now Saul – turned and gazed into Hector's eyes. This, it had understood.

"I bid thee – come." Hector held out a hand and this time, Saul willingly flew over and landed on Hector's palm.

That much was done, then.

"We have much to do. With me." This time, when Hector turned and passed through the door, he had no doubt that Saul was hovering close by. And, likewise this time, when he reached the chest at the foot of the steps, the thought barely crossed his mind when Saul appeared over the chest and touched it.

"Yah-ha!" The lid raised of its own volition and Hector could see inside the chest as though it provided its own light. Surely enough, Hector saw a piece of wood and bone, wound together and forming an elaborate, beautiful shape like that of a dragon's head. And, at the bottom of the chest, there was a piece of parchment.

_A crest made from a carved dragon bone. Looks like it should be placed into something, somewhere..._

Issac's handwriting, again. Hector crumpled the note, practically hearing Issac's mocking laughter in his ears.

No matter, anyway, Hector told himself – he had what he needed, and could finally truly begin his pursuit. Without a second thought, Hector pulled the Memorial Ticket from his pocket and invoked its enchantment. The letters glowed and for a second, Hector couldn't see and felt as though he were being grabbed and both ends and pulled until he stretched. And then...

~Abandoned Castle~

When he came to his senses, Hector found himself almost blinded by the bright blue glow. Then, he sat down, remembering where he was – the Memorial Ticket had brought him here, to the sanctuary just off the entrance hallway. At least he was spared the time and trouble of going back around the outer wall of the castle, this way. He stayed in the chair and let the wings wrap around him and contemplated – Issac not only had a healthy head start from Hector's foray back into the forest, but the troubles Hector had encountered with the castle's creatures, just navigating his way around looking for the Dragon Crest, and forging and controlling this devil. Zaed had mentioned that Issac was already on his way to the chapel. Hector remembered the actual place, itself – how could he NOT remember – but it had been so long, and the footpaths in the mountains had undoubtedly changed over the years of battle and evacuation by any living beings. How he was supposed to get there, Hector couldn't imagine.

But, first things first: Hector pulled out his map of the Abandoned Castle and surveyed what he did have – there was the basic structure of the various floors, but more than a few spots that Issac had either deliberately left out or had been smudged and wiped away from the parchment being out in the rain. And that wasn't even to think about the monsters – Issac had left an executioner in the front hallway and a Cyclops on the outer wall, and Hector was willing to wager that the skeletons, mermen, and fenrirs were at least in part because of a summoning spell Issac must have cast. Hector hadn't even reached the basement – who knew what would be down there?

Hector made notes of the little of the castle he'd been to – noting where he'd found any kinds of tools, what monsters had been there, and where he'd already been. The parts of the map he did have... well, his plan was to follow the most direct, guaranteed path – there was at least one clear path that would lead through the basement, up to the interior first floor, and from there, up to the top of the castle. If Hector could just follow it as directly as possible, this would go quickly.

The wings unfolded. Hector stood and pushed out the door. This time, the hallways didn't seem as threatening as they were, before – he knew where to pause and let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and when to stop and listen for anything before entering the flooded main hallway. He could still hear the splashing of something in the water – more mermen, but that was to be expected, since the beasts were almost like ants or roaches or some other swarming pest. Hector kept to the wall and saw the monster, this time.

His sword rent through the creature before he plunged through the water and towards the stairs. Another merman popped out of the water and pounced, but only managed to impale itself on Hector's blade when he lofted it. He was out of the water and up the stairs so quickly, and with barely a scratch – maybe the creatures had caught him where he didn't notice or something, but the point was that he wasn't too damaged to fight.

At last, Hector reached the doors, illuminated by the glow from the candles and torches – they seemed a little different now, as though the indent for the crest to fit into had shifted and was now cradled in the center of the two Virgin Mary's hands. Whatever the case, Hector dug into his pocket and drew out the Dragon Crest. It, too, appeared to have changed, as though the back was smoothed out and meant to lock into something, instead of being like a chunk of wood that someone had forcefully carved out of the door.

The pieces not only fit perfectly, but when Hector saw the door, it seemed somehow... completed. As though there was something that he'd never seen in this door, some inescapable quality that made it whole. He shook off the feeling and was finally able to open the doors and pass through.

They shut behind him and Hector saw, on the opposite end of the room, the same glowing red bars – although, instead of a door, the bars stood before a large crack in the wall that lead to a staircase. A snap behind him was all the indicator he needed to know that he was now trapped in this room... had he not been more distracted by the creatures he saw.

For one, there were innumerable summoning circles appearing on the floor, the signature black smoke of skeletons announcing their arrival. But the swarm didn't interest him – what was alarming was the single lightning strike that ran from floor to ceiling and the hulking shadow of an executioner it brought.

The skeletons were mercifully slow, and they seemed uninterested in gathering around Hector – more than a few of them were trotting slow circles in the opposite corners of the room. It wasn't until he was close enough for them to strike than any seemed to show interest, and by that time, Hector had smashed them. Again, the skeletons weren't the issue – it was the executioner, which was lumbering towards him, dragging the heavy hammer on its right arm and occasionally pausing to rapidly pivot. More skeletons were smashed apart by the executioner's poor aim than Hector could dispatch, only to be replaced as more summoning circles started glowing on the floor. It was sheer luck that Hector was able to flip out of the way with every pass – it wouldn't last long, and he was running out of places to run.

The only logical conclusion Hector could think was that he would need to kill the executioner first. So, he let the monstrosity come close enough – perhaps too close, when he almost lost his balance as the hammer fell and shook the ground – that he was able to jump out of the way and land on the executioner's shoulder. Four slices with his blade – perhaps because the creature was more powerful than the previous executioner Hector had faced, perhaps because Hector's blade was starting to dull – finally managed to break the beast's hide enough for Hector to finally land a killing blow to its neck. The executioner's legs crumbled beneath it and its body began to dissolve under Hector's boots – he had to jump again to stop himself from being burned from the spurts of flame that melted the last remnants of the executioner's corpse.

As if the brute had been somehow holding them at bay, the skeletons now rapidly swarmed where the creature had once stood, all of them aimlessly swinging their bronze hooks and swaying about, trying to chase after Hector. He came back down and landed on one skeleton so hard that he heard a crunch as the monster collapsed and splintered under his boots. His sword caught three in one stroke, but only enough to send them staggering.

"Ah!" Hector looked back over his shoulder at Saul's pathetic and desperate gasp – there were two more skeletons, both with their blades raised. Hector put up his guard just in time to block both of the swings. Saul ducked behind Hector's gauntlet, then onto his shoulder as he dealt two heavy strokes that shattered the creatures. Again, Saul squeaked in his ear, and Hector knew immediately which way to turn to cleave three skeletons completely in two.

When Hector spun about, looking for the next threat, only to find himself alone in the room. Saul lifted off his shoulder and went fluttering about the room, squeaking curiously at the chunks of bronze the skeletons had dropped, and finally landing on a piece of parchment left where the executioner's remains had once been. Not about to pass up the material he would undoubtedly need, Hector gathered the bronze and paused over what Saul was examining. It was an almost comical sight – to see the innocent devil so seriously pondering the parchment as though it COULD actually understand it.

Instead, Hector's notice was caught by something sitting on the very edge of the carpet just before the stairwell. It wasn't quite a chest – for one thing, the enchantment was much weaker, more likely to keep whatever it was rooted to the floor and undisturbed by any creatures. The moment Hector touched it, the enchantment dropped and he found himself holding a leather-bound book not even the size of his hand. There was no writing, no inscription, barely any pages... Hector opened the cover and found himself staring at a detailed image of a skeleton, as though painted by a skilled illuminator. The script alongside the image spelled out everything that Hector had already learned from the dozen or so skeletons he'd already fought, back in the castle – their powers, their skills, approximately how difficult they were to destroy, whatever kinds of treasure they might leave behind...

It was his old bestiary. The volume he'd composed and filled with details about the various monsters Dracula had controlled and brought into his lands.

_What use would I have to spend my hours with a simple, useless book?_

_This shall have better use that we might think – if Lord Dracula is summoning more creatures, we must needs know what they are, lest we forge him redundant devils. I doubt he would have much patience for forgemasters whom waste their energies on making him creatures that he might simply find, elsewhere._

_'Tis a waste of time. I'll be of better use if I could forge any number of beasts to do my bidding, even if they ARE simple or tedious._

Had that first argument been what started Issac's resentment of him? Prior discussions might have grown tense or ended in fights, but there was always a consensus they'd reached – either Hector would apologize for whatever perceived slight he'd dealt to wound Issac's pride, or Issac would grudgingly admit that Hector's ideas would be beneficial to them both in the long run. When Hector had started poring over this bestiary, adding details about the various creatures that Dracula had let loose – or, worse, the new breeds that came from these monsters mating with wild animals or other demonic beasts – while Issac continued to labor on...

Or maybe, now that Hector looked back on it, maybe Issac's change had been sparked by the supposed imbalance of labor – Hector remembered many a long hour he would spend, meticulously noting the creatures' abilities, but remembered very little of actually doing battle with them. By logic, that meant Issac would have spent most of his time in the thick of battle.

Did that make sense? Issac had loved bloodshed – he'd thrived in it, was in his element with a spear in hand and commanding his devils to tear the beasts apart. It never would have occurred to Hector that he might think, otherwise... Or did it, as always, come back to Dracula's preferences – their liege had been especially impressed with Hector's reports, even going so far as to use them for speculation to bring more monsters into the lands, or have them mate with new kinds of demons, just to see what might come of it... and all of the fighting Issac had done...

And yet... Issac had kept this book – the fact that he'd left it here with an enchantment for Hector to find probably meant Issac had had it on his person, until just now...

"Nyah?" Saul popped up and hovered around Hector's face, staring at the book. It awoke Hector from his reminiscence. He snapped the volume shut and tucked it into his breast pocket. If the lightness of the book was any indicator, he'd have to start over again – all just as well, since he would need to build his strength back up.

A sharpened sword was only as useful as a sharpened mind.

Hector took a few steps more and plunged through the crack – down the steps and into the deeper darkness of the basement caverns.

~Abandoned Castle, B1~

The foot of the steps spilt out into a platform of stone, surrounded by a tiny, wrought iron fence and walls of dug rock – the basement in the abandoned castle had been given minimal attention to begin with, and the years of neglect made for a rough surface and a ceiling that dangled stalactites. Hector had to be careful not to slip as he stepped off the stairwell and took a cautious few paces into the room.

Then, he heard the rushing sound of metal shearing through air. Saul gasped and buried itself in Hector's hair. They were not alone.

{{Laßt uns ihn töten Gute Idee Wir können ihn bis es funktioniert}} Hector heard the chanting, but from the echo in the cavern, he couldn't quite tell where it was coming from. It wasn't even as though there was anything for any kind of attacker to hide behind – the protrusions in the wall still clung fairly tightly, and any stalactites or stalagmites were on the other side of the fence and short enough that they couldn't serve as cover for anything.

There was the sound of something swinging again – almost like a razor-sharp pendulum, drawing closer and closer. Hector turned and was blinded for almost a moment by an unnaturally bright light when something hit him in the arm. The pain was burning, and thin, and ran to his bones and seemed to vibrate every nerve throughout his body.

Then, the swinging stopped and Hector glanced up to see the light – a little yellow flame, inside a lantern, but it was like a tiny piece of the sun compared to the dimness of the cavern – floating away, and he finally could make out the shadow carrying it before the creature faded into the walls. Wrapped up in a shroud and in one hand, carrying the lantern, the other holding a long, poorly sharpened knife, Hector recognized the glowing eyes of a ghost.

It certainly explained why he hadn't seen it at first. Hector hoisted his sword, wincing when he felt the warm trickle of blood run down his arm – everything from his wrist to his shoulder was going so numb, it almost burned.

{{Laßt uns ihn töten}} Again, the chant echoed throughout the chamber. Hector pivoted in place, looking for the source – or, if naught else, a means of escape. Saul mumbled some nonsensical babble, finally letting out a gasp and Hector turned to see two ghosts, this time. Both in rotting, practically invisible shrouds, both with lanterns, both with knives.

{{Gute Idee}} One of them had a knife that was long and thin – like the broken end of a spear of some kind – but the other held a knife that was flat and rectangular, as though pilfered from a kitchen. They were chanting in perfect synchronization and floating around him in a circle. Hector couldn't decide which one to keep watch on, {{Wir können ihn bis es funktioniert Laßt uns ihn töten}}

Why weren't they attacking? Hector kept his blade up, and held his stance, but neither of the ghosts made any move to even approach him. Were they waiting for something? Were they gauging him? Was there something else holding them at bay?

{{Gute Idee Wir können ihn bis es funktioniert}} Hector only caught one or two words of their chant, but it was enough that he suddenly realized the ghosts were reciting a vague notion of "cutting him up". Hector believed he had a valid theory who that "him" was. The moment the chant stopped, he heard the swinging of the blades begin.

He had his guard up and caught the butcher's knife that would have split his head – instead, the blade cut deep into his hand. There was a burst of sensation before the flowing blood and the previous injury to his arm made the wound numb again.

{{Laßt uns ihn töten Gute Idee Wir können ihn bis es funktioniert}} Of course, these were ghosts – normal, mortal weapons would be useless to send them to the grave. To truly lay these creatures to rest, at least a modicum of magic – even the latent abilities of any kind of power – needed to be infused into the weapon wielder.

"What luck then..." Hector whispered to himself as he raised his good arm and rent his foe with a stroke. The lantern shattered. Hector struck again, and the ghost cringed. If he could have seen inside the hood of the shroud, Hector imagined he might have seen a human face in pain, but he didn't care to find out. The last strike made the ghost melt into shadows with a howl.

When the second one came at him, Hector dodged the blow and immediately countered, almost instantly shearing the creature in two as its lantern went out. Hector had recovered enough to look about and spot a door – this one, embellished with a simple Celtic design resembling winged harps – before he heard a final whir of a blade. He turned just in time – the knife made a shallow cut into his shoulder, but would have sunk even deeper into his head, had he not moved. Hector struck back almost instinctively and the ghost dissolved.

Now, Hector paused and listened. He was finally alone in the room, but there was no telling how long that would last.

Saul was still bobbing around in the air, making fussy, indistinct noises as the innocent devil's tiny hands ran over the ragged edges of his wounds. Hector would have brushed the creature off – the way it kept buzzing about was so akin to that of a swarming gnat, rather than a creation forged to serve – had his injuries not been relatively serious. He was out of potions, and still dizzy from the rush of battle, and this was only the entrance to the tunnels and chambers of the basement.

"Eh?" Saul was still poking at Hector's arm – somehow, conscious of his blood still flowing, of his injury and his dilemma. How it could understand, Hector didn't know. Perhaps it was because innocent devils were connected to his own life force, or perhaps it was because he was aware of his own mortality that drew the fairy's curiosity.

Perhaps he could get by. He would eventually have to heal, and the scars would be more than he deserved – a lesson from the ghosts to remain on his guard. Hector staggered over to the doors and put his weight against them, pushing them open. A blast of frigid, damp air blew in his face as he stumbled out the other side and almost tripped on the steep curve.

The passage through the basement, here, was a declining pathway – as though it had once been the bed of an underground river that tunneled under the castle. The rock under his feet was uneven and slick, the dampness in the air seeming to penetrate everything and the iciness making each step a perilous choice between loose gravel or frosted stone. Hector shuddered and cautiously started down the slope, at least grateful that the cool air was soothing his injuries.

As Hector got used to the incline, he saw the glow of two summoning circles somewhere in the distance ahead of him. It was easy enough to see that much, even if the gloom of the passageway made it impossible for him to see his foe, clearly. The rattling noise of something climbing the path was all that Hector needed to know where the monster was – he lashed out with his sword and heard the distinctive crunch of the metal biting into bare, dry bone. When Hector heard the thump of a nugget of bronze landing on the gravel, he instinctively bent to retrieve it and was practically concussed by the second skeleton – saved only by the fact that the creature had missed with its weapon, but the point of its elbow still caught Hector on the base of his skull.

It mattered naught – Hector swung a powerful uppercut into the monster's ribcage and saw the entire thing go flying back down the slope. Hector quickly followed and crushed the monster's pieces and skull under his boots before it could recover. There was still more darkness and an even deeper dive into the cavernous paths of the basement, but Hector kept going – something in these stony tunnels seemed to refresh him, deep in his soul. It was as though old memories were resurfacing; his body knew this underground and could move through it, flowing through the passage like the river must have once done. More skeletons appeared down the path, and Hector only rushed into them and smashed them.

All the while, Saul kept tittering in Hector's ear. Hector ignored the fairy and kept running, around the curve, through the large hole in the wall and further down, down… until Hector came to a halt at a fork in the path. He didn't recall this – neither from his memories, nor from the map.

Before he could reach for the map, Hector heard a growl from the darkness. Rushing up towards him, from both ends of the fork, were two fenrirs. He could see the green glow from one of their eyes, and the gleam of the protruding, dripping fangs of the other. Hector put up his blade and prepared for one of them to pounce. Neither did – they both split off and started to circle. Hector turned and watched them, waiting for an opportunity to land a blow.

Ignoring Saul's fluttering, Hector kept turning – one of the patterns of fenrir hunting packs was that most kept circling, distracting prey, until one could get behind their target and pounce. So long as he could keep his sights on both, neither of them could attack. Neither of them would even pause to charge…

Behind Hector, there was a loud bark. He barely had a chance to look over his shoulder before he saw a third Fenrir pounce. The weight alone was enough to throw him onto his back, as the hellhound's jaws clasped around his arm and yanked. His already torn and raw flesh seared with fresh agony, and Hector was only unable to scream for the fenrir's legs pressing on his chest. Over the roaring in his ears, Hector could hear the snarling of the other two dogs and the huffing of the beast with its fangs sunk into his bones – the green eyes of the fenrir were gazing right into Hector's.

Hector's fingers found their grip on his sword and lifted it to plunge the blade into the fenrir's side – he could feel the beast's hot blood dribbling down the handle and soaking into his sleeve as he dug in deeper. The creature's grip on his arm tightened, almost as though it knew that death was inevitable and was willing to perish for the sake of its fellow's success in their kill. Indeed, Hector only had to glance a little to the side to see the other two Fenrir's still circling, looking for a weak point to pounce on. One on the left, one on the right. Hector's head spun – he couldn't think of any way to counter, not without leaving himself seriously vulnerable to either of the beasts, even if he had both his arms.

He could feel the fenrir pinning him start to rot, quickly as they always did. In a matter of moments, its corpse would be dissolved into nothingness, not even leaving a bloodstain – should he wait until that moment, when he would be free to attack? Or was their pack-mate's body the only thing truly holding the other hellhounds at bay, leaving him exposed once it was gone? Hector couldn't decide – and he could see the looks on the other fenrir's gruesome faces, the looks that said they could smell his desperation, and knew that all they need do was wait.

"Ah!" One of the hounds turned, sharply. Hector glanced over for a moment to see the beast rear up and snap at something in the air, its prey forgotten entirely.

It was a chance. Hector wasted not a moment before rolling and taking the rapidly dissolving remains of the first fenrir with him. The other hound made a dive for Hector, only to snap its jaws on the rotting remains of the first's bones. Hector managed to make a stab for the beast's face, cutting jaggedly across one of its eyes and leaving it cringing and unable to counter. He saw the fenrir open its mouth to bark for its companion and drove the point of his blade into the creature's gullet, cutting off any noise it may have loosed. The fenrir fell and began to rot, with the other still chasing something in the air like a normal wolf would snap at a troublesome gnat.

Hector glanced and finally saw Saul, hovering carefully just out of the range of the beast, still huffing and gibbering nonsensical noises. Hector didn't even need to worry about the beast's response as he sliced through the fenrir's hindquarters, then made a clean slice to its neck. When he finally dropped his sword and collapsed to his knees, the bodies of his attackers had completely disappeared and the stench of cold, mangy fur was replaced with the overpowering sensation of rotting, bloody flesh.

Just a quick glance at his left arm was enough to tell Hector that the damage was serious – the reason for his inability to register the pain was not, as he'd thought, the numbness of the cold air nor the loss of his blood, but because the first fenrir had rent clear through his tissue. The pain racked his insides, making him feel ill and his vision fail him, fading in and out of the blackness.

"Eh!" Saul was at his side, pulling on something. Hector eased himself down, lying flat against the cold stone and letting the solid feel of the rock ground him - it was only as he managed to get onto his side that he felt the wet, sticky warmth of fresh blood, and when he pressed his hand to his side, a shock went through him. Perhaps the fenrir's claws had... "Eh!"

Hector's eyes blearily fluttered, his own strength failing him to the point he could barely see. Saul had pulled out a piece of parchment - the same one he'd found the innocent devil playing with in the throne room above. Hector hadn't examined it, then - perhaps it was a piece of the map, or perhaps it was another sarcastic hint from Issac. He wasn't sure, and there was a small part of him that adamantly insisted he would accept no further help from the man he would slay.

Saul continued to prod at him, still squeaking in apparent distress. Hector felt all the heat draining from his face - he was so cold that, in a moment of delirium, he wondered if this was what humans felt upon being bitten and tainted by a vampire. If this was aid from Issac - no matter how distasteful - Hector knew he would need it. He lifted a hand, let the parchment roll open, and for a moment, blinked and wondered if his eyes deceived him.

_Hamburger. A meat patty squashed inside a bun to make it easier to eat. This one has lots of tasty pickles._

What in God's name was a 'hamburger'? He had heard tell of a city in a distant country by the name of Hamburg, but he sincerely doubted that had anything to do with it, and what good did just having something written on a piece of parchment do him?

The thought had scarcely crossed his mind when, in Hector's hand, the parchment suddenly transformed. What awoke him to the change was the smell that reached him - the smoky aroma of meat with the fat melting, the yeast and flour of fresh bread...

_We thank thee, Lord, for the gifts from thy bounty, which we are about to receive..._

The hamburger was half gone before Hector realized he had barely chewed. It made no difference - his other arm was no longer, at the least, completely detached from his shoulder, and the warmth and ability to feel the cool air of the basement returned to his face. He finished the humble fare - and humble it was, just like the simple meals of bread and cheese and veal Rosalee would set - before he felt at rights enough to think. He was not fully recovered, but the wounds that remained were merely painful, not crippling. There was also the question of which direction to go, and Hector was fairly confident now that the path to the right was the direction indicated on the map. But what struck him most was his awareness of the parchment.

It had been a fairly simple spell - if it could even be called a spell at all, for that matter - but it hadn't been Issac's writing. The script had been small and simple, but graceful and calm. Issac's hand was quick and rough. Someone else had cast that spell and, more importantly, left it there for Hector to find...

There was still the taste of the meat and the texture of the bread on his tongue, as though a part of the meal was still resting between his teeth. It held the sensations of memories, long gone and bittersweet.

Though it wrought his arm with razor sharp pain, Hector brought his hands together and knelt, just for a moment. He could feel Saul hovering just on the tips of his scalp, like a hand passing over his head in blessing, as he prayed that, whatever God there was, He had Rosalee at His side, watching him.

When Hector managed to get to his feet and start back on his path, going down the passage indicated on the map and pausing only to smash a skeleton, quickly dispose of a fenrir, and crush another skeleton, he was stopped by Saul, yet again. The innocent devil was hovering by a door, squawking for Hector's attention. When it became apparent that Saul would not follow willingly, Hector turned and pushed through the doors, only irritated when he saw the fairy shoot through the crevices in a wall of wine barrels along the back wall.

"Saul! Away from there - time is of the essence!" Hector called, stepping into the room fully and pausing to look between the barrels. On the other side of the wall, he saw his creation hovering about, as though in an open space. So... there was a hidden chamber in here... and, if Saul's interest was so great it lead the devil to disobey its master, Hector supposed there must be some reason. Quickly, Hector smashed the wine barrels and stepped out of the way as they all came crashing down and left a cascade of red wine, slick on the stones and staining everything a shade of purple.

Indeed, Saul had been curious of something - for one, there was a familiar small blue bottle with a gold handle on the floor, which Hector gratefully scooped up. But more importantly, there was a chest. The moment Hector set foot near it, Saul landed and touched the lock, forcing the lid to swing open and a chunk of something silvery peeked out from the red velvet lining. Hector's eyes widened, in part with shock and in part with awe.

"Aluminum." He breathed, kneeling and pick it up - it was a nugget about the size of his own head, but was light as though it were but the size of his fist. He'd heard of this ore - made by alchemists to be specifically durable, but incredibly light. Never had he pictured there would be any to be found in Valachia - not for a price, and certainly not just left, waiting for him in the bowels of the castle.

When Hector pocketed the aluminum, Saul had already fluttered back towards the door. This time, Hector was not so impatient with the creature and even let it lead the way out and down the slope. Another fenrir pounced at him, and two more skeletons rose in a challenge. They were easily destroyed and Hector found no challenge in continuing down the slope. There were still more Fenrirs - though all came at him head on and provided no difficulty as the last pack had - and a few ghosts. Even with an ache still running through his arm, Hector found the fighting surprisingly easy, only accumulating a handful of extra scratches or bruises as he went.

It was after a stretch of rocky cavern – the first since Hector had entered into the basement, he realized, that was not a constant slope downhill – that he found himself peering into a room just off the corridor. He found himself wishing he hadn't, when the door locked and sealed him in with a whole pack of fenrirs and a slew of ghosts. Hector kept his back to the wall, hoping to keep the Fenrirs from attacking him from behind this time, but even that was of little use when the ghosts would disappear into the walls and reappear just inches from his head. His still unhealed injuries were now less painful and irritating and becoming a distraction, if not a true hindrance.

"Ah!" Saul hid in Hector's hair as a fenrir grabbed his leg in its teeth, then another tried to jump up and lunge for his throat, only held at bay by the flat of Hector's blade pressing against its own jaw. All it would take was for a ghost or a third Fenrir to jump on and...

"Go!" He shouted, more commanding Saul to get out of harm's way than anything... and, quite unexpectedly, the pain in his leg and side and arm was... gone... Hector looked down and could see both the Fenrirs blinking, as though they not only understood the change that had overcome their prey, but how unexpected it had been even for him. If he had to put a word to it, he would call the expression on the beast's faces 'frightened'.

It mattered naught – Hector began his counter attack and quickly destroyed the hellhounds and the ghosts. In a matter of moments, none would have ever guessed his struggle from the emptiness of the chamber. Empty, except for a few odd things. On the ground at his feet, there was something glittering and when Hector stooped to pick it up, he found a gem not even the size of his palm – it looked as though it might belong on a young noblewoman's necklace or crown, were the gem not the exact same color as the stone his innocent devil was forged from.

"Oh!" Saul flitted over and took the gem – rather unexpectedly – and promptly put a corner in its mouth. Hector might have tried to stop his innocent – naïve, and simple, more like – devil, had the fairy's mouth not opened to show hundreds of needle-like teeth that punctured cleanly through the glass of the stone. Hector paid the devil no mind as he paced about the chamber – there were more gleaming pieces of bone and a single piece of parchment not unlike the one Saul had found with the spell for food on it. Everything went into Hector's pocket, until he came across something in the middle of the room. He hadn't noticed with the swarm of Fenrirs and the ghosts, but he also supposed they might have been guarding this... possibly. Hector knelt to pick up a bag which, upon opening and inspecting, was filled with one hundred gold pieces.

What use he would have for such a find, Hector couldn't foresee in the near future. On the other hand, he did recall a town relatively close to the castle – yes, he remembered being able to see the clock tower from the town square, and hadn't he seen at least the shadow of the tower but an hour or so ago, as he'd been on the castle's outer walls. Perhaps there might still be residents there – he would, at least, have need of a blacksmith or a sword forgery eventually. The gold would come in useful, then...

But that was the future. For now, Hector turned and ran out the doors, again.

The hallways had stopped sloping downwards, but upon the next doorway, Hector found himself in a dead-end. It had certainly been a room at some point, not a chamber hollowed out by years of decay and water flow, no stalactites or stalagmites, but a smooth ceiling and cobbled floor, with four pillars up and down the length of the room. Hector checked the map - there was supposedly a room just over this one, but no extra path that was meant to reach here. The walls of the cavern, while rocky and textured like any cave, had held no sign of a secret door, nor even a passage that one might have to squeeze through to reach the other side. Hector found himself pacing the room, looking for something - any kind of hint.

"Hee hee..." When Hector looked around, Saul was sitting on another chest - right before a crumbling pillar, with dust falling from the ceiling. All these chests made Hector nervous. What was Issac's plan, that he was leaving hints like this so frequently? It was understandable, Hector supposed, that Issac wanted to fight him at his full strength. Still, like this, Hector could think of two outcomes, neither which Issac wanted – one, that Hector would depend too heavily on these "gifts" as Issac left them and never regained his strength, or that Hector would become stronger too quickly and be able to destroy Issac when next they met. Certainly, the first idea would be a grand gesture of spite… but when Hector thought of all that Issac had done, if only he could quickly regain his powers – Hector could imagine the look of shock on Issac's face when Hector slew him with so little effort.

Still, Hector supposed there was no sense in refusing when there was little else to distract him in this room. He strode over to the chest and bade Saul to open it. Inside, Hector expected to see, perhaps, a lump of metal, or a spell, or an unusual item that Hector might need… he hadn't expected the scroll of parchment with Issac's writing on it.

_I had a wonderful idea, Hector – our powers can forge devils to fulfill our bidding, but why stop there? Perhaps the ability to forge can also be used on the materials one would need a blacksmith to meld. After all, 'twould be a shame for you to find yourself unarmed and defenseless._

After the writing was a long roll of parchment, drawn out as though in a grid – blank, but Hector could guess that he was meant to fill in the spaces of his own labors. Hector drew his sword and examined it closely for the first time – the blade was dulled and worn, the tip rounded off, and the length of the blade with varying dents and scratches, and when Hector swung, he could see the blade rattle in its connection to the hilt.

Sighing with resignation, Hector sat down – he would need a new blade, and soon. If he was able to make his own weapons, he would not begrudge this ability. Undoing his pouch and the scarf about his waist, Hector laid out the meager items he'd collected. The money, he was certain, would be of no use to forging weapons, so he set those aside. There was the bronze – a veritable collection of the ore, he had – but it was rough and easily worn down, as this old blade of his showed. There was the aluminum, but it was more valuable for how light it was, not its durability. The pieces of parchment, from the map, his bestiary, and the spell for some sustenance – all of those were useless for weapons. Which left the oddly shaped bone fragments Hector had collected. There was something more to them – he could feel it – but what was it?

When he picked up a piece to examine it, there was the strangest sensation – as though he could feel the piece directing his arm, guiding him to the proper action. He laid the bone next to his half ruined sword and felt his power surging through his arm. Reflexively, he clutched the two together and focused, pressing until his sword began to glow, and he could feel the pieces melting into something smooth and heavy, and finally, let the spell finish.

Now, in his hand, Hector found himself grasping a sturdy, wooden stake with a hatchet head on the very end. Hector had never handled an axe before – but the way this creation seemed to balance perfectly in his hand and flow smoothly with his arm when he swung it… certainly, he could grow accustomed to it, easily. When Hector would return his scarf to its place, the gano would go with it. In the meantime, there was enough bronze to forge a few extra short swords – but those would expire all too quickly, he knew. Then, he wondered, what might happen if the aluminum were to be melded with the bronze of the swords? Perhaps it would do nothing, and the metals simply wouldn't meld… except he could feel the same vibration running through his arm as he clutched the aluminum and pressed it to the hilt of one of the new swords.

There was a flash of light and Hector found himself holding a fine, supple foil. He walked through a few, careful steps – the blade flexed and wobbled, almost comically, but there was the thought in Hector's mind that, perhaps, a more rigid blade would be quicker to break. In any case, he saw no harm in having the weapon at his side.

"Nyah-ha?" Hector glanced around for Saul and spotted the fairy hovering about the pillar behind the unlocked chest. Following the devil's lead, Hector reached out and felt along the pillar. He could see cracks through the stone – not unlike all the others – but these seemed to run deeper, Hector's touch making dust and debris shudder from the rock as though it were all too precariously held together. His gaze traveled up the pillar until he saw something in the stone ceiling overhead: An unnaturally large, deep crack.

Curious, and not without trepidation, Hector drew the axe he'd just forged – the swords would be too flimsy, he knew just by looking. When he swung and connected a blow with the pillar, he heard a satisfying shake and rumble. A few more strikes drove the cracks so deeply into the rock that Hector could see through the pillar, and when he looked up, he could see the cracks in the ceiling spreading, losing chips and pieces of stone and taking a definite shape. After the last stroke, Hector could see a clean, complete fissure in the ceiling, and the broken pillar's crash as it completely fell apart was his only alert to jump out of the way as the entire section of the ceiling came down right where he'd been standing.

At least now, Hector had only to glance to see a second chamber and know how to get there – the stone was thick and had fallen in such a way that it created an incline up to the floor. He jumped onto the ramp and was pleased to note that, however improvised it had been, the pieces held his weight without so much as a wobble. 'Twas, if naught else, a pleasant surprise.

Even moreso was Hector's discovery as he reached the top of his climb and saw yet another chest – this one in the corner of the chamber. Without even needing his command, Saul had fluttered over and undone the lock. When Hector reached in and found another scroll of parchment, a jolt went up his arm - his glove seared and the sensation seemed to sink all the way down to his bone. Had it not faded away almost immediately, Hector might have found reason for alarm. Instead, he was left with the parchment.

_Since it has been so long since you were familiar with your powers, Hector, I thought I might make this more interesting - unlike all those devils you and I would forge long ago, which came into the world fully formed and at their greatest strength, I've found away to make them even more powerful. This spell should allow you to harvest materials from the creatures you slay to feed your creations. 'Twill guide them on an evolution - you saw my own masterpiece, already. I look forward to seeing what kinds of demonic forces you see fit to raise up in an army against me._

Hector looked over the parchment again, then up at Saul. So, this was how Issac had managed to best him. Instead of trying in vain to forge powerful devils from the start, it was easier to mold simple and weak creatures and raise them to evolve and grow in their strength.

And then the full force of Issac's words hit him - not only did Issac have stronger creatures at his command, now, but he'd found more uses for this power and bent them to his own will. To forge weapons, to create even greater devils from a simple one... and what else, Hector wondered, had Issac done in all these years?

On the other hand, Issac had only just had the idea. If Hector was to defeat him, he would master the technique and find a strategy to make any progress Issac had forged meaningless.

"Come, Saul." He beckoned, edging his way around the collapsed portion of the ceiling and in the direction the lamps led. He found a door - much like all the rest - and braced himself for what might lay beyond. Whatever it was, he was determined not to turn back.


End file.
